CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Tatsuya liked to think he approached every situation with a calm and calculated mindset, ensuring that every decision he made was based on careful analysis and sound judgement, but during his recent moments of introspection, he realised that most of his decisions—especially those that furthered his goal—were done in the heat of the moment. Though they usually worked out in his favour, he could freely admit that it had, more often than not, led to unnecessary risks and compromised situations.

This, sadly enough, was such a situation, and he hated it. Why must he lose something in order to gain another? Why couldn’t life be fair to him? Why couldn't it be straightforward for once?

Why?

As he stood across from a similarly stooping Farah, hands clasped on either knee to prevent a collapse, he couldn't help wondering if he should have decided against going after Kuro— but, then again, with the alternative being death, was there any other option? Did he really have any choice?

He wasn't afraid of death in and of itself; he was afraid of dying without killing Kuro. Afraid of failure. Sure, there was no way he could fulfil his life’s purpose at the moment, weak as he was, but wasn't it better to try and fail than not try at all? The opportunity had come, so shouldn't he take it? Should he die without keeping his promise? How would he be able to look his father in the eyes in the afterlife, knowing he had deliberately done nothing when he could have done something—anything?

And all it would cost was Farah’s life. But, wasn’t that an equivalent exchange good enough for him—a life for an opportunity he desperately ached for? All those years spent toiling, the bridges he had burned, the pleasures foregone, the lives taken in preparation for the only one that mattered, and all the guilt she bore—should it be all for nought?

He had sacrificed countless lives in the pursuit of his goal, and by attempting this fruitless endeavour, he was willing to jeopardise the Wind Blades's goal (on the off-chance they decided to continue with their plan) and sacrifice countless more—so, why was the thought of sacrificing Farah off-putting? Was it because of their connection? Was it easier to sacrifice the faceless thousands than someone he knew, or did his feelings for her stop him from doing the needful?

Was he willing, for once, to do the right thing even when it was the harder thing to do? Was he willing to stop this joke of a fight and die content, knowing he didn't have her blood on his hand and her death on his conscience? Was he willing to become a monster, even if it was for however long he had before he was executed?

He honestly didn't know.

“Farah.” It hurt to speak; his voice was raw and guttural, damaged, but he still called to her. “Farah…”

Yet, there was no verbal response. Just the slow shifting of her head as matted tresses, full of knots and dirt, fell from her shoulders, blocking the amber eyes that slowly settled on him. He wondered if she hated or blamed him. He wondered if he deserved it.

She released a pained huff and, to his small delight, moved to him. Thin fingers shakily crossed the space between them, meeting his own calloused hands—the highest comfort she could give then—before withdrawing slightly. No words followed. Just a soft sigh, a whine, and a gentle flex that told him all he needed to know. Part of him wanted to believe she meant to say she loved him, but she never did—unrequited love at its finest. Mostly, he found himself wishing this wasn't happening.

They were pushed far apart by the short earth elemental from earlier, and Tatsuya finally allowed the atmosphere of the area to wash over him.

The crowd crackled with energy, the sounds of chatter and laughter echoing from their midst as they craned their necks to seek the best vantage point, eager to witness the spectacle of lovers pitted against each other. He didn't blame them—they probably found an outlet from their worries in the periodic carnage they could watch on the stage—but he doubted this could be called a fight. There would be no display of power, skill, or physical prowess due to their weakened state, so it was also likely they found the situation amusing.

He didn't. Rather, he was hesitating.

Could he do it?

Tatsuya knew hesitation and doubt were the enemies of success. He had witnessed the consequences of indecisiveness in the world around him many times, and he was determined to avoid falling into the same trap, yet…

He couldn't help the laughter that escaped him: a bark, his voice harsh and filled with anguish. He didn't want to do it.

Unbidden, he found himself picking apart the crowd, looking for anyone who could help him. There was none to be found, and even if (by some chance) there was, what was the probability of the person getting involved—especially in a matter that concerned a lord as renowned and powerful as Kuro and didn't, directly or indirectly, concern them? Maybe another lord could help, but he wasn't so naive as to wait on it. After all, if he were in their position, he would mind his business.

Still, was there no hope to be found? Where were the Wind Blades? He could see them abandoning him, but Farah? Didn't Rei say something about how, despite their different reasons for joining the group and their clashing personalities, they were united by their goal? Why weren't they mounting a rescue?

His eyes locked on Farah’s, and there was a moment, a brief horrifying one, really—as deep emotions stirred—a single drop of encapsulated helplessness welled up from the corner of his eye and threatened to fall, and try as hard as he could to refocus his thoughts elsewhere, the damage had already been done.

For the first time in what felt like years, a tear fell down his cheeks. Tremors wracked his body, shooting through his spine and out to his extremities. He had to do it.